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His lip curled in distaste. They were nothing but a bunch of cons, preying on people’s emotions and insecurities and hopes and dreams all while swindling them out of their money.
For him, it was the principle of it all. The dishonesty of the profession. The group that had reeled Lisa in hook, line, and sinker had been well-organized and very smooth. They’d even convinced her if he wouldn’t keep paying to support her “spiritual journey,” marrying him would be a mistake—and boy, had she followed their advice.
In hindsight, they’d probably done him a favor, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to thank the money-grubbing crooks. The money Lisa had racked up was chump change to him, but he assumed many of their other victims couldn’t afford to cover thousands of dollars like he’d had to for her. How many other lives had they ruined? How many were they still ruining?
That right there was why he couldn’t stand so-called psychics.
As far as Roxanna was concerned, he sometimes wrestled with the rationale his brother wouldn’t be friends with a thief. Not knowingly, anyway. It made him question if she was that good at fooling Asher and the rest of his family—who also loved her—or could she possibly be on the up and up?
If he believed the latter, he’d have to admit she could be the real deal. But a woman who could read his mind and know what he was thinking and feeling? No way in hell he was going to open himself up to believing in that creepy shit.
As he drew even with Roxanna, he gave a tap on the horn. She startled and glanced over. When she spotted him behind the wheel, her brows drew down into a frown, and she kept walking while staring straight ahead. An impatient beep from a driver behind had him gunning the gas to make a left turn at the next intersection to intercept her. Cross traffic was dead at eight a.m. on a Sunday morning, so he rolled down the window and took a casual drink of his coffee while he waited.
Roxanna’s step slowed mid-block, her narrowed brown eyes glaring at him. Finally, she moved forward once more and walked up to his window. “What?”
“Are you going to your building?”
“My Jeep is there. I couldn’t drive it last night because my keys were in my apartment, and my spare keys were at the shop.”
Had she walked all the way here last night in that thin nightgown? The idea was absurd, yet he wouldn’t put it past her. He felt bad again, though he knew it had nothing to do with him.
The chill of the morning had put color in her cheeks during the few blocks she’d been walking, so he offered, “I can give you a ride.”
A toss of her head sent a ripple through her shiny, sun-kissed hair. “I prefer the fresh air.”
He cocked his eyebrow and took a sip of coffee while giving her a moment to change her mind. She remained silent and stubbornly still.
“Suit yourself,” he said as he reached to put his coffee in the cup holder. “But you can’t say I’m always an ass anymore.”
Her gaze narrowed, and she opened her mouth to reply, but he took his foot off the brake and drove away. Like her shutting the door in his face.
Two right turns and a left put him back on track to her a
partment building, and five minutes later, he slowed to a stop across the street from the brick building that still had a couple of fire trucks around the perimeter.
It hadn’t burned to the ground, though his gut tightened as he took in the black soot around the blown out windows on the top two floors, and the collapsed roof on the far end. The thought of her being trapped inside the burning building made his heart beat faster and shortened his breath.
He frowned at the unexpected reaction and slid his gaze toward the small groups of people clustered beyond the yellow caution tape. They watched the remaining firefighters making sure the fire was completely out. The expressions of despair on their faces told him they were likely tenants, too, and he recalled the flash of emotion on Roxanna’s face last night when he’d been all snarky about her having her own apartment.
He considered parking and waiting for her to arrive, but suspected she wouldn’t welcome any comfort or moral support he would offer. The thought of pulling her into his arms sped up his pulse all over again.
Fuck.
He shifted his foot from brake to gas and got the hell out of there. He was an idiot for even considering being nice to her. Last thing he needed was to complicate his life with sympathy for a con artist like Roxanna Kent.
By eleven a.m., he’d grabbed his stuff from the apartment above her shop, booked a room at a hotel a few minutes away, and now made the turn into the driveway of his parents’ estate. His cell dinged for an incoming text, and he picked it up as he parked behind the multitude of family cars filling the driveway.
His brother was four hours behind on his Hawaiian trip, and was probably still in bed with his new fiancé, so he wasn’t surprised he was just replying now.
Asher: What the hell is going on? Why is Rox staying at the apartment with YOU?
Loyal: There was a fire at her apartment building last night.
Asher: Holy shit. Is she okay?
He started typing a reply, but his phone rang before he could finish. “Yes, she’s okay,” he answered.
“Honor’s here,” Asher advised. “I got you on speaker.”
